And The Goblet Smoked
by Unique .F
Summary: Hundredth reviewer challenge- Remus' first use of wolfsbane. WARNING- Some amount of lightheartedness if you squint. Sorta. ;) Please consult your GP to see if this is right for you. ONESHOT


**Written for hundredth reviewer challenge. Prompt- Lupin's first use of Wolfsbane.**

"There you go, wolf. Try not to murder any students while you're at it...no mutt or Potter to keep you in line this time..." Snape drawled, and Remus felt a flash of anger he forced down. His emotions were too volatile this close to the full moon.

"Thank you, Severus," Lupin called after him. He had made the potion for him, after all, which was supposed to be very difficult to make, in spite of everything else.

Snape turned slightly as he heard Remus' words. Intense black eyes glared at him, and he bit out softly, "The student's lives are worth more than your contentment, wolf. You'll need to drink that directly," he added.

With a mocking bow, the Potions Master swept out of the room, closing the door behind him with a definite _click. _Remus blinked. Well, that was expected, some part of him commented wryly. And it was, he supposed. Dumbledore had said he trusted Snape completely, it made sense that the man was at least loyal to the school...didn't it?

Remus eyed the potion.

It was three hours before the full moon would rise, and he would be transformed into a ripping, snarling beast with no thought or morality. Three hours until the monthly hell he had been cursed with, ever since he was a child, falling into that special darkness of complete self-absorbed hatred, where the world and everything in it was just another extension of all that he wanted to destroy.

Remus had always been the 'mild mannered one'. The one that never got angry, and always forgave. But how could you get angry with someone, how could you blame them for things, when you always knew yourself worse than they were? With the constant whispers of _kill kill kill _in your consciousness, begging you to _destroy _those who upset you? When only you knew the full consequences of unleashing your temper?

He swallowed and looked down at his desk. He refused to allow his mind to be dominated by the wolf. _He _was Remus, Merlin-damn-it, and he refused to let anyone take the most precious thing that had yet to be torn from him, himself. Fate had taken his family. Fate had taken his soul. Fate had taken his friends. Fate had taken what tenacious grip he could cling to in his world. Fate had ripped everything from his grasp, but for his own identity.

Remus the cursed, Remus the werewolf, Remus the Marauder, Remus the nondescript man who lived down the lane, Remus the Hogwarts Professor, Remus the boy, Remus the father's friend, Remus the gentle man a young child could turn to, all different facets of his personality and his interaction, but each, wholly, Remus.

It was the losing himself he loathed above all, and the dreadful fear each full moon that he would wake up not himself. Each moon he was giving himself up, leaving his prized self up to chance, without knowing whether he would ever return, to a savage beast he hated.

The sun's light had set now, and the office was lit only by a few magical lamps and the shimmer of the immense wards Remus had set in place, aided by Dumbledore. His office was all but impenetrable, he had locked himself from inside, and the door only opened to a long, very complicated password. There was no chance that a student could endanger themselves with him tonight, he had taken every possible precaution.

It was also bare to the point of being stripped. He had duplicated everything he could and replaced the real things with magical constructs earlier in the day, just in case a student happened to call in, knowing that later he would rip them all to shattered pieces. Everything else had been moved to his bedrooms, also fully warded.

Dryly, he gulped again, and stared down at the bubbling potion. It was in a large golden goblet, no doubt some sly mockery of Snape's that passed completely over his head, and was smoking slightly. He wasn't quite sure whether to drink it or not. He didn't put it past Snape to poison him.

_But what would be his motive?_

_Oh, only that you stood by and watched while he was viciously tormented all through school..._

_But Dumbledore trusts him..._

_Dumbledore this, Dumbledore that! Snape hates you, he could easily blame a step gone wrong in a very tricky potion..._

_But if this is real...if it will let me keep my mind..._

The potential gain fair eliminated the risk. He sipped the potion cautiously.

It was vile. He gagged, but forced himself to drink it, and quickly, having much experience in the imbibing of potions. Once it was over with, he shuddered, wishing he could rid himself of the aftertaste, which if possible was even worse than the first taste. The goblet was still smoking, worryingly.

But now...now all he could do was wait.

It was the waiting that was the worse. For three hours all he had to do was check the wards, remove his clothes and stand, slightly shivering (it was chilly even within the warmth of his office- he couldn't have the fire on, after all) and fret. He wondered again and again _why _he had taken the damn potion, of course it wouldn't work...

Terrible thoughts struck him, as terrible thoughts always struck him when you were nervous. What if something had gone wrong with the potion, and instead of allowing him to keep his mind, it _trapped _him as a werewolf, and then if Harry maybe figured out the password, and came, in, and Remus killed him, and then killed everyone and then-

_No, _he told himself firmly. _You're overreacting. It will be fine? It will be fine!_

"And if he has poisoned me," Remus said aloud, and jumped at the sound of his own voice, "Then I'll probably die, at least. There are worst fates." It wasn't a very consoling thought. He wouldn't get to protect Harry from Sirius...and only he, Moony, knew the secret of just how Padfoot had escaped...

Despite the danger, he couldn't tell Dumbledore. He just couldn't. It was as if telling him was synonymous with finally admitting that Sirius Black, murderer and betrayer, servant of Voldemort was one and the same with the cocky, black-haired boy that used to wake him up obnoxiously early on Christmas morning singing Come Ye Merry Hippogriff. He couldn't do it. To tarnish the memory of those carefree days would sever his last lifeline to sanity.

He chanced a glance out of the warded window. The sight of the full moon appearing behind a curtain of clouds caused a vicious jolt in his stomach. He closed his eyes and offered a quick prayer before it began.

He bit his lip sharply as the moonlight hit him, warming him first, with that crazing itching feeling that stabbed into his skin like thousands of fire-ants armed with needles. And now the wolf would wake up, stretching and rearing, and the darkness would begin to crowd the edges of his mind...

Remus had half a second to realise the wolf was still sleeping before the pain hit.

Caught by surprise, he didn't expect the sudden onslaught, and screamed. His nails dug into his flesh. He began to shake. His head was lengthening, so was his body, his shoulders hunching and with a howl and a snap of his jaws, the werewolf transformed.

Remus panted, looking around himself with wild eyes. It was strange to see through the colourless, sharp eyes of a wolf. He never had really remembered what happened during his transformations. His body still shook with the aftermentions of the pain. He nearly collapsed. He'd always fallen into the darkness before the worst of the Change had come upon him.

But he could think. He was thinking. He was REMUS! He was free!

He vented his glorious feelings in a joyful howl, and then abruptly cut it off, before remembering his office was soundproofed. The mischievousness of Moony came out in him then, and he began to explore his office.

Or tried to.

The first time he tried to stand up, his paws slipped in four different directions and he landed painfully on his nose. Suppressing a growl, he tried to work out how to stand up. It couldn't be that difficult...could it?

An hour or two later, and Remus was thinking of starting a cult of worshipping the godlike beings that had mastered, impossibly, the art of walking on four legs. Six legs...eight legs...the thought made him ill. How did spiders cope? He was beginning to get very frustrated. Clearly, all the instinctual knowledge of the wolf was tucked away along with its savagery. No one had mentioned _this, _he thought petulantly, and then remonstrated himself. Wasn't it enough that he could think?

_Great, just great, _grumbled the cynical part of him, _a brain you can't even use, fantastic-_

_Oh, shut up, _Lupin was too high on the rush of being able to keep his thoughts to listen to the pessimistic side of himself today.

It took another four hours, but finally, Remus managed a few shaky steps around the room. He was so shocked he immediately fell over, but it was the doing that counted.

He was free. He was a wolf, but he was still Remus.

_Remus._


End file.
